I see as if in a dreamthat I have sent countless livesinto a turmoilwith my kickingand thrashingand longing to be understood

I have work to dowhy don't I just leave everyone alone and go back to it?

* * *

The beauty consumes meit soothes my weary mindand laps at the edges of my soullike the waters of a peaceful lake

I make myself invisiblebut still I feel the eyesburning into my backthe side of my facemy soul – the eyesand the questions

the sense of lossand the sense of angereverywhere I go those eyes!once filled with suchmystery and wonder

(perhaps I should not rememberit like this, but insteadthe greeting smile)

* * *

I unfold my heartand tell him everythingI have inside

there's the look of wearinessthe sense that he feels so helplessas the healer – how to heal my soul

we go through the motionsbecause that is all we havegrace must come from beyond us

* * *

I resume my place againin the grove

the new leaves shine brightlyglistening as tears

the bark is white and smoothyou can feel the sapcoursing through veins

a breeze comes through the branchesa song

I breathethat's what I am here for

and everyone else?they have each entered their private gardenand who am I to guess or saywhat they find there?

I must forget themleave themand find myself aloneamidst the chaos and beauty

we are humanityeach and all and every onea single unique humanity

* * *

the shafts of light come through the treesglistening on the prayers as they risetheir subtle nuances caressing the soul

I know the best place to be in this lifeit is here in the groveamidst the holy onesverdant with the beauty of open armsas they rise up their sturdy trunksto the heavens

there they are crowned with praise

and I find myself so insignificant

even my sins become nothing morethan compost to feed them

* * *

I wear my folly as a crownwoven in leaves of springtimeand autumn

I cast my cares as breadto the birds that are willing to take them

* * *

the silence echoes againthe silence and the beautymy eyes are filled with tearsand I hope no one can see them

they will lock me upif they find me here like this

in our worldtears must be hidden

I need not ask myself their causebut I ask myself if that is as it should be

I explore blind alleys and dark hallwaysin my soulthe paths that perhapsshould be left unexplored

the silence and the mysteryand the beauty goes on around meI am there, but I am notI am somewhere within herecaptivated by my hopes and my dreamslost in the dying breath of my ambition

I find a true gem to hold as my own sorrow

I will wear this sorrowas a glory and a crown

It is the sorrow that I care not what others thinkbut will forge my way forward into the unknownbecause I believe it is the holiest of holieswho has made for me a path there

it is a lonely pathprivate and misunderstood

when I love someone or somethingit is seen as decadence and obsession

when I give up someone or something it is seen as hopelessness and despair

such is the way of the poet

we are not meant to live truebut to live in never-ending layers of falsehoodeach wrappedmore tightly about ourselves than the last

an accommodation to all who find usto give them the means to calculate the measure of our soulsbecause most people cannot endure to encountersomething they cannot quantify and measure

* * *

the beauty comes back to me againas a breeze

the branches sway and glistenthe shafts of light seem to alterslightly as if a passing ghosthas disturbed them

a song arises from the woodsmy heart is so full I cannot bear it

I know the path I must walk onI know that forgiveness and understandingis in the depths of the woodsdark, dank and deepon my left-hand and my rightbut my path is straight forwardtoward the lightglistening with my tears

I will encounter reconciliationwhen they are ready to give up the lies they've chosen to believe

it is not for me to choose the placeor the time, but to walk forwardcarefully and cautiously into the unknownbright with beauty and mysteryglistening as the stars

* * *

the garden dissolves around meI am a different man nowbut I have not given up the truth

the wood, the hay, the stubbleit has been burnt up in the fires of beauty

now truth rises up as a gemstone in my hearta sapphire burning brightly with mysterya ruby burning brightly with passionan emerald glistening green with promisea diamond glistening with hope

there are mysteries I have encountered herethere has been conflict and misunderstandingI bear much of the faultand tears will come againbecause I know this

but I cannot bear the faultnor blame myselffor someone else choosing to believe a lieand there is nothing I can do to convinceanyone of the truth

I will walk forward in hopeand beauty of soulI will walk forward in determinationand in truth

if falsehood and lies snatches at my feet againI will trample them beneath my heelbut I will not stop on this journey

Wednesday, February 03, 2010

how can I love them all?how fit them all inside?the heart has no boundsand yet there is turmoil and confusion

Selah

to love them allfit them all insidethis boundless heartto nourish those who need it with loveto cherish their dreams and ambitionsas if they were my own

to reach out and to embraceto kiss a face full of tearsand provide a shoulderstrong arms to shelter from the stormand warmth to nourish the soul

there is only so much room here in my hearthow do I love one without making another jealous?how do I know what portion to give to each?and if I givedoes what remains get any smaller?is there enough for everyone?

a shelter from the pain of lossholding a world of dreamsand sorrows

to rise from the ashes of misunderstanding

there are some places I cannot reachsome corners of the hearts that have found shelter in me that will not let me draw near

how can I shine a light in those dark places?how can I drive away haunting memories and fears?

I cannot turn toward the face that smilesand neglect the one that sorrowsI cannot give myself to the innocent and youngneglecting those who hold epochs of miseryhow to write them allin such a way that they are given back their vision?how to inscribe my mysteries in their heartsso that each can be named and enumerated?

to give wings to some dreamswithout crushing othersto give love to someone in needwithout leaving others wantingto spread myself out across the universewithout spreading myself to thin

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

I agonized on the drive home over all the things in my heart that are currently disturbing me. I counted them, numbered them, schemed.

And I remembered those who loved me.

When I arrived at home I would attend to them first, discussing with them some important plans that had been eluding me, some important issues that were facing us as a family. We would discuss them and come to terms, and invoke a plan, and follow it. All would be well.

And once it was well, I would retire to my cave and seek out the things that distress me in my own heart. There I would agonize over them in the darkness as I do now.

There I would attend to them and make them my own. I would not name them, no they would name me. And I would touch every pain in every dark corner of my soul. I would poke at each and disturb it, because I could no longer bear not knowing each distortion by name. I could no longer bear hiding from myself my own sins.

It didn't work out this way.

I arrived at home and unleashed my anguish on those I loved. We discussed those things that had been eluding us, but through an agony of phrases and misspent words. We came to terms, but fell short of invoking a plan. There were tears and there was love and there were hugs and affection.

And then a moment or two of peace.

Now I retire to my cave to attend to my foolishness, to touch the places that hurt so that I know I am alive. I stare into the darkness, hoping to see a glimmer of some incandescent beauty that will nourish my soul. But all I see is the darkness, staring back at me like a bitter black mirror.

Monday, March 22, 2004

"Our mind is like an onion, and each day and month of practice progressively peels away the layers of delusion."

-Geshe Ngawang Dhargyey, "Advice From a Spiritual Friend"

Ain't that great!

Well, I'm no Buddhist (I read these things because they are entertaining and thought provoking) but I thought it was kinda spooky the way this topic popped up. Peeling away the layers of delusion! Yes, that's what I'm doing now that I'm free from the Eternal Order of the Onion!

Saturday, March 13, 2004

Well, at long last it has come to an end. I finally saw through their fraud and brought to an end an "adventure" of some long months serving the Order of the Onion.

It was a single thing that sparked the downfall of the Order in my eyes: I wanted to write an article.

Well, with all this practice (okay, I admit I haven't been posting lately) I decided to write a little essay on the Order of the Onion. Well, really there were two problems with that. For one, they were never going to let me publish my little essay anyhow - more on that later. And second, when I started digging into the past of the Order of the Onion I found some unusual circumstances - well, unusual is probably an understatement!

Well, we all know the purported history of the Order of the Onion. If you don't know the whole story, you can read about it here. Anyway, it supposedly all began in an Iowa onion farmer's field. (You notice I don't capitalize onion any more?) Well, I decided to do some research on John Mack, the onion farmer, and what do you think I found out? The best that anyone can tell me, Mr. John Mack, onion farmer who on that famed starry August night in 1943 had a vision in his field, never even existed! That's right. I couldn't find a shred of evidence that he ever existed.

And what do you think Jer Meloncampf (that fraud!) said when I asked him about this?

"Maybe you shouldn't be writing this article at this time? It appears as if you are not ready for it. You are not yet wholly attune to your inner onion."

Wholly attune to my inner onion? What a crack-pot! I'm just flabbergasted that it took me so long to realize it. All those late nights standing on street corners in downtown Seattle handing out tracts.

Well, I didn't realize it right at first.

"I've been trying," I said.

It was true. I had been every Thursday night to the unraveling session in the onion bowl (a completely spherical room at their Seattle Church Headquarters.)

"You know, we knew we were taking a risk letting a level 1 initiate write an essay about the Big O." (That's what those wise crackers call it, the Big O.)

"But you said this would be good for me. Help me launch my writing career."

Well, I realized right then: that was the bottom line. What I really wanted deep down inside all along was to become a writer. But what I also realized may have been far more important. They were never going to let me publish my article in the first place. It was all a big fraud - another aspect of their freakish mind control. In fact, I'm tempted to think they are not actually connected with The Onion like they said.

So, now I've actually abandoned the Order of the Onion and I'm going to try to become a writer on my own.

About Me

I love random things, objects that make poetry when you place thoughts between them... relationships between minds, the weird, the strange and the unusual, subtle pastel nuances and bright orange opinions, divine lights shining in dark and unexpected places...